


Jubilee Line

by Anonymous



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, One Shot, Sad Ending, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28591920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Maybe if they’d known, things would have been different.Maybe if they knew that Tommy wasn’t happy, someone would have said something.Maybe if they’d asked him, then none of this would be happening.
Comments: 22
Kudos: 138
Collections: Anonymous





	Jubilee Line

Maybe if they’d known, things would have been different.

Maybe if they knew that Tommy wasn’t happy, someone would have said something.

Maybe if they’d  _ asked  _ him, then none of this would be happening.

Maybe Wilbur and Phil wouldn’t be having tearful phone calls with his parents. Maybe Technoblade and Dream wouldn’t be flying to the UK with suits in their bags and insisting on footing whatever bill was necessary, not wanting Tommy’s parents to take a financial hit as well as everything else they had to endure. 

Maybe Tubbo wouldn’t have missed weeks of college, maybe he’d have streamed  _ something.  _

But, as Wilbur stared at the single drop of rain running down the train window, he considered that thinking about the  _ maybes  _ was pointless. Because none of those things had happened, and because it was far,  _ far  _ too late to change anything now. 

He wished he’d seen - they all did - but he hadn’t - none of them had.

It was strange how little had actually changed. Wilbur still lived in Brighton which, contrary to its name, was often grey and overcast. It still rained. Time still ticked by, waiting for no one and giving no pause for grief. Rent still had to be paid, so videos, streams, and content still had to be produced. No one mentioned the sudden and total disbandment of the Dream SMP, and no one seemed to ask. Logging on for content - using the legacy of a friend, a brother, a  _ boy,  _ for money - just seemed wrong. 

Wilbur did log on, once, after everyone had been informed. Dream had rolled back the server. L’Manburg was in its prime, nothing had been blown up, everything felt whole again. When he’d heard the echoes of Tommy’s laughter in the blocks, he’d cried. He’d cried until he fell asleep at his desk, and in the morning when he woke up he closed out of Minecraft and swore not to open up the game again for a very,  _ very  _ long time.

So much was the same, everything was different, and Wilbur carried that with him with every breath he took.

It was bad enough, losing a friend he cared so dearly for, but when that friend was like a brother it became so much worse. It felt like part of him had been ripped away. The Sleepy Bois had returned to its original three, though the three didn’t produce content like they used to. Instead they would sit in a call together for hours at a time. Sometimes they’d remain silent, other times they’d talk, infrequently one (or all) would shed tears for the moments that should have been filled with the bubbly laughter of the youngest member. 

_ ‘The next stop is Brighton, where this train will terminate. Please ensure you take all your belongings with you before alighting. Please keep your tickets with you, as ticket inspections are in operation at this station.’ _

Two hands came to Wilbur’s face, fingers pressed against closed eyes and the bridge of his nose. It was after midnight, but he hadn’t been able to bear the idea of spending a night with Tommy’s parents (though they’d insisted he shouldn’t have to be alone hours after burying a friend). It would have reminded him too much of the friend he’d lost if he was in his house. Maybe stepping into his bedroom - looking at his set up, where he streamed from - would have given him a sense of closure, but he didn’t want to test it. 

He got to his feet as the train began to slow, shoving one hand into his pocket to check that his ticket was still there while the other helped him keep his balance as he walked to the end of the carriage. His feet were soft against the carpet beneath them, but still each step he took seemed deafening in his otherwise silent surroundings.

Wilbur hadn’t cried on the way home, but if there’d been anyone else in the carriage with him (aside from the lovely young female conductor who’d seen his suit and face when checking his ticket and offered her condolences) he might have snapped. 

The train eased to a stop at the station and the controls for the door lit up. Wilbur stared at the orange circle surrounding the  _ open  _ button for a long moment before he eventually used the back of his knuckle to press down until a hiss was heard and the door began to open. It might have been a hot summer’s evening when Wilbur had gotten on the train, but now it was a cold, wet, drizzly night. Still, Wilbur didn’t so much as blink at the change in temperature.

Stepping onto the platform, his dress shoes splashed into a puddle. He didn’t think twice about it.

Wilbur began to tap his fingers against his thigh, moving as if he were pressing the strings of a guitar down, and he started to hum quietly. As he walked slowly up and down the platform, head drooping, hair sagging softly as raindrops fell from above, he began to not just hum, but sing.

“There’s a reason that London puts barriers on the tube line.”

He lifted his head, looking up at the sky above him. He looked at the clouds, the moon outlining them with silver.

“There’s a reason…”

He took in one last breath, closing his eyes, focusing on the emptiness he felt rather than the fear and apprehension as he fell forward.

“...They fail.”

**Author's Note:**

> :)


End file.
